Slow Fade
by comeawayeasy
Summary: Jack remembers a most amazing moment he and Ennis shared one time when they spent a few days in the mountains together.


**Title: **Slow Fade

**Characters:** Jack Twist/Ennis Del Mar. Jack's POV.   
**Category:** Slash. Angst.  
**Disclaimer:** Ennis Del Mar and Jack Twist belong to Annie Proulx. I'm just borrowing them for a little while—hopefully I've portrayed them well enough for you to recognize them. Anyway, it's all fiction, folks, and I'm not making a dime (no nickels or pennies either). Please note also that the song referenced in this story is, of course, "Always on My Mind," sung by Willie Nelson (1983).

**Author's Notes 1:** Just a little story about something Jack remembers—something I wish might've happened.  
**Author's Notes 2:** This is a story that could almost fall within canon. _Almost_. There is, however, one way in which it diverges—you may find it subtle, or you may find it glaring and obvious. Hopefully you'll like the story enough that you won't mind either way….

**Warning: **Fic rated M for mature themes and sexual situations including M/M sex.

A thick cushion of grass and weeds crushed and withering beneath him, Jack lay motionless several yards off the gravel road. Unable to turn his head without sending jagged lines of red-hot pain slingshotting crazily from limb to limb, he could barely see the two-tone, brown and white Ford parked at a crazy angle across the road, one front tire clear into the ditch and driver's side door swung out as far as the hinges would allow.

He could just make out the sound of the running engine, and if he concentrated hard enough, he could hear whatever song was playing on the radio—

_S'gonna run out of gas_, he thought, agitated, even though somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it didn't matter what happened to the truck now. _S'gonna run out of gas, and then I ain't gonna make it back to town. An' it's gonna get cold and dark out here, an', boy, Lureen'll like as have a heart attack, me bein' late again, an'—_

Panic rippling through his body like lazy currents in a river, he closed his eyes and tried to swallow—and it hurt, fucking _god_, it hurt. The coppery-metal taste of his own blood pooling at the back of his throat, tongue swollen and thick, and he could hardly breathe—

Ignoring the pain that came hard on the heels of the smallest movement, Jack grabbed a handful of grass and weeds at his side and twisted his fingers into the stringy stalks—he needed to feel the cool, fibrous texture, needed to feel _something_ to know he was still alive.

But then the pain arcing through bone and lungs and heart should've told him that….

The muscles in his lower back spasmed in protest, and Jack whimpered and loosened his fingers, a quiet certainty easing along the gossamer tendrils of thought wisping slip-softly in his mind.

_Son of a bitch_, he thought reluctantly. _I'm gonna die out here in the goddamn weeds like some fucking deer bounced off the grill o' my truck. No better'n roadkill rotting in the sun—it ain't fuckin' right_….

Shudders wracked Jack's broken body, and his breath came in great gasps as he felt the darkness washing over him. And he wondered how long it'd be before someone found him. Wondered who Lureen'd send out looking for him—if anyone at all. Wondered, removed from the reality of it all as if it were a show on television or some tall tale told by a drunk down at the Stockyards Bar, whether or not the coyotes would get him. He imagined his bones getting scattered and lost, bleached desert-dry, and everyone thinking he'd just up and disappeared into thin air.

And then he didn't think anything at all.

A hawk circled overhead, and the sweltering sun marked lonely minutes that added up to almost an hour before Jack groaned groggily and blinked open his eyes.

The Texas sky above him, washed-out-denim pale the way it'd been all day, was slipping without a fight into a deeper shade of blue as the sun ebbed dutifully downward, melting into the hazy horizon, and Jack…

…Jack struggled to understand how on Earth he was even still here.

Short of breath and unable to move his hand anymore, he shuttered pain-clouded electric-blue behind closed eyelids and strained to hear the melody drifting over from the abandoned pickup. It was twangy and soothing, and it was—

Willie. Singing that song that always made him think of Ennis—the lyrics he'd hoped, from the first time he ever heard it, made Ennis think of him. Lyrics that always came back to the phrase that filtered all shadow-like through Jack's head now. Words he felt way down deep like they were little puzzle pieces that'd found matching cutouts in his soul—_you were always on my mind_.

A muffled sob made its way past his throat—all snuffled and wheezy, and he coughed a sloshy-wet cough. Bit down on his tongue and breathed out the groan sent up from countless shards of agony slicing across every nerve-ending in his entire body.

Waves of ache traveling through him, and the threshold was crossed—only so much pain a body can stand—and Jack let his thoughts drift away to Ennis as merciful, gauzy numbness slowly overtook him.

As though a blanket were snugged up to his chin, warm comfort eased tentatively into flesh and bone, and Jack sighed softly, shallowly. Struggled vainly to fill his lungs with air and settled for the kind of breath a person breathes in the first few seconds after getting the wind knocked out of them. But behind closed eyelids, he drifted slowly away. To a rush of rivers, and mountains, and shared bottles of whiskey—more than he'd ever be able to count. To the sound of horses' hooves marking the unstoppable passage of time on pine-edged trails and wavy-green meadows. To the soulful brown eyes of the most maddeningly incredible man he'd ever known.

He thought about that afternoon up on old Brokeback when he'd nearly dozed off standing there in front of the campfire. How many millions of times had he relived those precious moments? The genuine surprise he'd felt when Ennis's arms wrapped around him from behind, and the shivers that'd stroked lazily down his spine when Ennis nuzzled into his neck. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against Jack's back, and the warmth between them something the flames of the fire couldn't touch. Gentle vibrations at his ear as Ennis hummed and rocked them both gently back and forth—

It was a memory Jack called up often, those few perfect moments in front of the fire when the whole world, for one fleeting, dusky moment, was _right_. It symbolized the hope he'd always had where Ennis was concerned, something sacred and true—something he'd starved for ever since. Just that feeling of being so satisfied and so…_content_—it was something he'd have gladly given anything for, something he'd brought up at least once every time they saw each other in the hopes that Ennis would see fit to give it a go.

But he never had, Ennis. Always told Jack it wasn't gonna be that way—that it _couldn't_ be that way, not for them.

And Jack wished now more than ever, as he sucked in another short breath, that Ennis would've tried—just once—looking into his own heart long enough to see the truth. 'Cause Jack knew full-well what he'd have found. Knew without a doubt it was more than Ennis'd ever owned up to in any of the times they'd ever been together. At least…at least when he'd been awake, that is.

'_Cause there was that one time_, Jack thought. That time they'd camped up in the Gallatins—fucking colder than hell that week. Early November, but they'd stayed in the low country out of a healthy respect for the patchwork layers of frigid snow piling on day by day further up the mountain.

They'd found a good spot to set up camp near a stand of Lodgepoles. Pitched their tent in the familiar shelter of lofty pines and the pungent smell of sap and dirt and rough-textured bark.

On the second day they'd fixed an early supper and gone for a ride in late afternoon. Followed the margins of the forest, side by side, legs occasionally bumping together, until they came to a promising looking trail and Ennis wordlessly urged his surefooted bay into the lead.

One hand in his pocket and the other gripping the reins, Jack fell in behind Ennis, studied him as they began moving upward—the way he moved with his horse, so fluid and, well, no other way to describe it but graceful, a horseman through and through. He studied the slope of shoulders, angles muted beneath the dark brown winter coat Ennis had on. Let his gaze wander down to denim-covered thigh and felt the spark inside that made him wish they were back in the tent right now instead of out here on horseback in the middle of God's great nowhere—fuckin' _cold_, great nowhere.

_Always so damn cold_, Jack thought weakly, but there was no regret, no remorse. He'd never regretted a minute he'd spent with Ennis—not a one—and damned if he was about to start now, not now when all the minutes he had left were dwindling in number, lapsing swiftly and silently into thoughtless oblivion.

They'd gotten back to camp just after nightfall, and Jack remembered how his feet had felt like they'd shattered into a thousand screaming pieces when he swung his leg over the back of the cantle and hit the ground with an unceremonious yelp. Ennis'd looked over and smiled as he pulled the saddle off his patient mare. "What's the matter, Rodeo—you ain't figured yet how to get off a horse proper when you been ridin' out in the cold?" The corners of his mouth twitched up into a teasing grin. "Thought you'd a figured that out by now, seein's how many times you've made that same mistake."

Jack was too busy trying to kick the tingling sensation out of his toes to give Ennis much more than a half-hearted scowl, though, gingerly stomping his feet into the hard ground and fussing like a cranky child with every last step.

"The fuck's it always gotta be so damn cold, huh?" he'd finally grumbled, not really expecting an answer, just wanting to voice the ever-present frustration with the way things were between them.

"Now don't you go gettin' started now," Ennis had shot back quickly.

"I know, I know," Jack said, unable to hide the irritation in his voice. He spoke to his horse's saddle as he worked the girth loose and got ready to heave the worn leather over her back and to the ground below. "S'just the way it is and the way it's always gonna be, and I should jus' get over my damn self already, right? That's what you were gonna say, isn't it?"

So focused on what he was doing, he about came out of his skin when Ennis pressed hard up behind him, warm against his back, hands skimming around Jack's stomach and pulling them tightly together. "Christ, Ennis, you tryin' a give me a heart attack?" he asked softly, relaxing into strong arms and frantically searching for space in his flustered mind, a place to store the memory of this moment—fuck, these were the moments he lived for.

Jack's black felt hat tipped suddenly sideways and fell to the ground when Ennis nuzzled determinedly into his neck. Scratchy-soft stubble left a pleasant burn on Jack's skin that faded slowly under soothing, tender kisses. "Hell no, Rodeo," Ennis murmured quietly. "I expect your warm, willing body to be pressed up against mine in that tent all night—breathing and heart beating and everything." And after a pause and a few more kisses—"Don't be sayin' stuff like that anyway. God knows what I'd do without you."

And in spite of the fact that those words traveled straight to his heart like the chorus of heavenly-winged angels, Jack couldn't help thinking, _You'd do what you already do three hundred and fifty days out of the year, Ennis—that's what you'd do._

But the thought was lost as insistent fingers snaked up under his coat and tugged suggestively at the big metal buckle at his stomach. Teeth grazed lightly over the skin just below his earlobe, and Jack shivered and felt his knees go weak with no warning. He grabbed Ennis's hands up in his own and drew in a long breath before swaying his hips gently back. Felt Ennis's hard desire for him through two layers of denim, and he chuckled as he gathered words up in his head. "So you wanna just do it right here, Cowboy?" he asked slyly.

Ennis moaned into his ear, and Jack just about lost his train of thought.

But not quite.

"Drop down right here out in the open, an' go for it?" he prodded, pressing solidly back against Ennis's groin.

"Jack—"

"Get an early start on tonight…."

Another sway of his hips and Ennis gasped. "'Cause you know I'd never object, Del Mar—you know I'm up for you whenever, wherever," Jack taunted, loving the way Ennis had closed his fingers around the leather of his belt. Hard heat erupting between his legs as Ennis panted softly in his ear and dragged soft, full lips over shivery skin—

"Christ, the things you say," Ennis whispered into his cheek.

And Jack wanted to turn to him so goddamn bad. Wanted to look into hungry brown eyes and see the need and the want he knew was simmering in their murky depths, but—

But face-to-face wasn't exactly Ennis's style, and little moments like these were few and far between…and Jack damn sure wasn't going to sabotage it by being needy, greedy.

Didn't matter anyway, though, as, with a frustrated sigh, Ennis shook his hands from Jack's grasp. Left a promise in the guise of a kiss at the corner of his mouth and stepped back, cold air swirling in between them and Jack not even turning around to look.

He could hear the crisp click of the lighter as Ennis lit up a cigarette—heard the way he blew the smoke out with a terse breath and felt his heart slide back into a normal rhythm as the Earth started spinning again with a noticeable lurch.

"Whyn't you head on into the tent," he heard Ennis say behind him as he grabbed purposefully at the edges of the saddle blanket. Tugged the thick fabric and heavy saddle down to the ground, grunting under his breath as he did it. "Go on and get yourself warm. I'll take care of the horses and be there in a bit, Jack, alright?"

Ennis still behind him, Jack spoke casually over his shoulder—"You sure you don't want no—"

Strong hands turning him around—Jack glimpsed the flicker of glowing embers fluttering to the ground below as Ennis drew his hand down the front of his jeans. Stroked firmly over the denim-covered contours of his cock, and Jack whimpered, breath all caught up in his throat as he looked, startled, into expressive brown eyes that hid nothing.

Fingers kneading hard flesh—"Ah, hell, Jack, got some catchin' up t' do—Christ, don't know how I go so long without this." And he claimed Jack's lips in a rough kiss, possessive and raw.

Jack felt a charge sweep sizzling-hot through his body as Ennis's tongue slid across his own. Felt his pulse surge and his heart struggle to keep a steady rhythm, and he leaned into Ennis's embrace, thrust into his hand and moaned low in his throat. And he wasn't thinking straight, couldn't help it—murmured hoarsely against those full lips, "You mean without _us_, hmm?" Pretended not to notice Ennis flinch. "Without me?" Jack asked, voice a grainy blend of hope and forced indifference.

Ennis grunted in answer and moved in on Jack's mouth again. Slid his palm down the front of his thigh and back up again to press between his legs, other hand holding Jack's hip steady.

But that wasn't good enough, and Jack shivered as the ache he always tried so hard to squelch deep down grabbed hold of his heart like it had so many times before. He didn't know why he couldn't be okay with what they had. Didn't know why he always had the feeling he was trudging knee-deep in disappointment whenever it came to Ennis Del Mar—he should know better by now, shouldn't he? And…

…and he didn't know why he felt the need to press the issue this time…but he did.

"Wouldn't hurt ya' none to answer now, would it?" he asked sullenly.

Like cold water to a fire, all the heat between them fizzled in a tinny rush. With a long-suffering sigh, Ennis pulled quickly away. Jack reached for his wrist, but wasn't surprised in the least when Ennis jerked his hand away and shot an accusing look over his shoulder, stalking briskly over to slide the bridle over his horse's head. "Jus' can't leave well enough alone now, can you?" he asked, voice emotionless and dull. "I tell you what, Jack. I sure hope you don't plan on spendin' all week arguin' about what can't be fixed. I ain't in no mood, and—"

"Nah, tell you what," Jack shot back bitterly. "We c'n jus' fuck like rabbits and spend the next few days talkin' 'bout important stuff like the weather an' what sorta beans you like best—oh, and maybe when the next time is you might have a few days t' spare for me, how's that?" He shoved his hands in his pockets as he turned and headed angrily toward the tent, his voice carrying back to Ennis clear as if he were still standing right there in front of him. "Or how about I just keep my fool mouth shut the rest of the damn week since you don't never like none of what I gotta say anyway."

He heard Ennis mumble something—couldn't make out the words, though, and he didn't stop to ask what they might have been. Just kept on walking.

And regretted it immediately—regretted saying things and doing things that served only to push the two of them apart, but reminded himself quickly that Ennis was the one who always made sure they were two states away from each other eleven out of every twelve months.

Inside the tent, he undressed quickly and slipped in between several layers of thick sleeping bags and blankets. Turned on his side then and pummeled the pillow under his head until he managed to bully it into something approaching comfortable.

Jaw clenched and muscles tense and sore, Jack found himself holding still as he could, ears picking up the slightest rustle of fabric as he listened for the footfalls that would tell him Ennis was coming to bed. Minutes stacked up on top of one another, though—turned into a considerable pile, and he began to wonder if Ennis was going to stay out there all night just trying to prove a point. _Mention stayin' together and tryin' to make a life out of it, and he makes me pay by keepin' the hell away from me_, Jack thought bitterly.

The wind picked up then. Carried the roar of the river over its frosty banks and delivered it, whispered white noise, to the tiny campsite tucked up against the trees. In his cocoon of cotton-swathed warmth, Jack's eyelids grew heavy even as he tried in vain to stay awake. Tried to separate the sounds of the river from the wild silence all around, but finally realized it was a losing battle and he willingly gave up, let the sound of his own breathing lull him into fitful sleep as he waited—still—for Ennis to join him.

Dark and warm…the edge of a dream reaching out to snag unconscious thoughts, pushing, pulling them into patterns of lifelike and familiar nonsense….

Cool hand slipping over his hip and across his stomach, Jack blinked his eyes open, brilliant blue shaded gray-black in the darkness of the tent. Thought for a second he might be dreaming, but soft lips at the nape of his neck assured him otherwise. A slow intentional blink and he swallowed hard. Tried to focus on the feel of Ennis—body pressed up warm behind his, hard cock up against his ass, careworn and calloused fingertips tracing the lines of his ribs and the muscles in his stomach. And, god, those lips—leaving a tingly-damp line up along the top of his spine now.

"Ennis, what—" he whispered hoarsely. Tried to turn, but Ennis pressed hard against him, reaching down between his legs to take Jack's swollen cock in his hand as he nuzzled stubbly-soft into his neck.

"Shh," Ennis quieted him. "What's this fallin' asleep without me now, Rodeo?" Jack heard him ask softly. And then Ennis stroked hard up Jack's cock, Jack moaning and arching his back, pushing forcefully into Ennis's hand as he stroked back down just as firmly. Rough fingers over smooth skin, Ennis struck up a rhythm—hand and hips, his whole body rocking against Jack's like waves buffeting the shore.

"_Ah_…fuck, Ennis, feels so goddamn good," Jack blurted out, voice cracking and strained, unable to keep still. Teeth and tongue grazing over his shoulder, he squirmed and shivered under Ennis's touch. Could feel the muscles in his stomach and legs working themselves into curled, coiled ache, and he felt the slow grind as everything inside him collapsed slowly in on itself, waiting for just the right trigger to send it all spinning madly past the fringes of tired control.

"Uh-huh, I c'n see that," Ennis murmured, little shockwaves of warm air tripping gently across Jack's ear. "C'mon now."

Jack reached back between them then to take Ennis's cock between trembling fingers—was rewarded with the hissing sound of Ennis sucking his breath in between clenched teeth. And a little harder, a little faster, thumb flicking over that ridge of skin that sent Jack's brain into overdrive—Ennis driving him headlong over that cliff with hardly any effort all.

One more stroke—two—slipping back down, and it was all over. Groaning loudly and digging his fingers into Ennis's hip, Jack thrust his hips forward, pushed hard into Ennis's hand and felt everything inside him explode in soul-shaking fury. Felt like he was being turned inside out, and he shuddered, groaned loudly into sex-stained air, spasming-pulsing all slippery-sticky into Ennis's hand.

Shivering, moaning, he struggled to catch his breath. Let his hand slide down off Ennis's hip to reach for the hard flesh pressed between them, but Ennis had other things in mind.

Warm-wet fingers slid between Jack's legs, and Jack pressed down on them—gasped when he felt Ennis push up inside him and brush against that spot that all but controlled the lightning. "Goddamn, Cowboy, you tryin' a kill me?" Jack murmured, crescent-shaped words pushed through his lush-lipped smile.

Ennis grunted and made sure to swipe his fingers one more time across the same spot before leaving Jack empty and shifting in the blankets behind him. "Hell, no—you can't never die, Jack Twist," Ennis quipped. "Want you warm and alive—"

"Right here with me," he added softly, sweet-warm words that tangled straight around Jack's heart until he thought it would overheat and stop beating altogether.

But he didn't have time to think about it.

Blood cooled only slightly to this side of boiling, Jack rolled to his stomach and pushed up on shaky hands and knees. And Ennis was already up behind him, guiding himself in, in one long, smooth stroke that had Jack arching his back and grating Ennis's name out all gritty-hot like sun on sand. Fingers gripped his hips hard enough to leave bruises, and Jack felt Ennis moving inside him so hard and heavy he didn't know how it was he didn't explode into a million singeing-burning-sparking pieces.

Lost his breath and caught it straight up again as he met Ennis's thrusts one for one, a pounding rhythm so powerful and quick—and over way too soon as slick-hot friction had Ennis coming inside him in short order, a strangled groan and steeled muscles the only indication he gave that he was home.

And then he was quiet and breathing hard and easing Jack down into the blankets, arms wrapped tight around him like he'd never let him go.

For Jack, it was something close to Heaven, lying in Ennis's arms the way he was. It wasn't the way it normally went, and he wasn't about to question it. _No place I'd rather be than right the fuck here_, he thought drowsily, trying, as he had earlier, to stay awake just so that he could concentrate on committing the moment to memory. But Ennis let go of him for a moment to pull the blankets up to their shoulders and then grabbed hold again even tighter—held Jack so close, one fingertip tracing lightly back and forth over the pale skin across the line of his collar bone.

The sounds of their breathing joined up and settled into synchronous rhythm, and Jack found himself quickly falling prey to the soothing sound.

And hard as he tried, he couldn't keep his eyes open.

Dark and warm, nestled so close up against Ennis he could feel his heartbeat against his back.

Best sleep he ever had.

Only to be lured out of it in the gray light before dawn by blurry words tickling his shoulder blade—dream-sent, all thick and slurred. Jack couldn't even make out their meaning, and he smiled to himself, shut his eyes and stifled a yawn.

"Don't go…it's early yet, Cowboy," Ennis murmured behind him, and Jack leaned back into Ennis's embrace.

"Not going anywhere," Jack answered softly. "Gonna stay right here with—"

"Love you, Jack."

And he froze.

God, the very same way he was frozen now. Couldn't move a muscle, and that was the same, too. Jack remembered how he'd been so stunned—a little…

…a little like now, only now it was because of…because of…he wasn't quite sure, and back then it was because of those words. Words Ennis didn't remember saying half an hour later when he woke up.

Words Jack had remembered every day of his life. Words he remembered now as he lay cradled in cold weeds and black night.

And hard as he tried, he couldn't keep his eyes open.

And the words swam softly through the balm of confusion as he lost track of everything but the sound and the shape of them—'Love you, Jack, love you. Jack…love you….'

Melody fading, falling on deaf ears. Twangy and soothing—it was…

…Willie.

Lyrics that always made him think of Ennis…_Always on my_—

_Mind_—but he couldn't hear them.

Words flashing behind closed eyelids, wrapping around his heart—'_Love you, Jack_ '—singing him to sleep.


End file.
